


Another Sunny Day

by Pixiestick_cc



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixiestick_cc/pseuds/Pixiestick_cc
Summary: And every evening Valery wandered to the bar, Shcherbina wasn’t far behind.





	1. Valery

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based on a Belle and Sebastian song which sounds like a contradiction (much like Valery and Boris) to the subject matter of the show. But I really felt that the last verse fit the feel of Chernobyl well.
> 
> _-So what went wrong? It was a lie, it crumbled apart  
>  Ghost figures of past, present, future haunting the heart-_

A shroud of decay surrounded him on most days. Even when the sun was out. _Especially_ when the sun was out. At least when it was cloudy the mood felt right. Dreary, like eventual death was a whisper away. But the sun- _that damn sun!_ \- had a way of shining down a sense of normalcy on Pripyat that only made the radiation saturating the town seem starker. At least that was the way it was for Valery. The sun couldn’t fool him because he knew the truth. A pleasant day where all your instincts urged you to take a stroll, to let the sun warm your skin, was, in fact, a misnomer. All those satisfying emotions you felt meant nothing because you were a corpse in the making. That was the reason he hated sunny days here because despite appearances, they reminded him that everything _wasn’t_ normal. Thankfully, there weren’t too many cloudless days filled with sunshine in Pripyat to remind him of this.

One thing Pripyat _did_ have plenty of was bars. All emptied out by now, save for the one in his hotel. A hotel crammed with people like him- sent to manage the clean-up, and then those sent to manage the people. They were the ones always off on the periphery. Never truly revealing themselves, unless they were pretending to be someone else. Trust was a rare commodity around these government stooges.

 _Well, not all of them_ Valery absently thought as he let liquor burn the lining of his throat. Like radiation on skin. His mind was wandering into dark corners. He hated these moments when depression and anxiety encroached ever closer to the point that vodka no longer took the edge off. Why was he even drinking?

There was no bartender. Just transparent bottles of clear liquid free for the taking. Some nights, like tonight, Valery would wander down to the bar, although there was no reason why he couldn’t simply take the alcohol back to his room. And yet, when he was here, he sometimes assumed the identity of a weary traveler, imagining that this was a real functioning hotel and not a temporary housing unit for the soon to be dead. Picking up the complimentary matches with the hotel’s logo on the front, he used one to light his cigarette and then stuffed them in his breast pocket alongside his nearly empty pack. Yes, he was just a guest here, passing through on his way to Moscow.

And every evening Valery wandered to the bar, Scherbina wasn’t far behind. Uninvited, he always showed up anyway. It didn’t bother him. And honestly, was that even an option? Could he show annoyance if he wanted to? Would he be shot? This was another dark thought brought on by his current state of mind. Boris would never do that. Valery swept his gaze around the room, searching for the prying eyes of the KGB that lurked off in the shadows. They wouldn’t shoot him either, but they might report to someone who could.

“You are too old for this, comrade Legasov,” Boris stated, sliding into a chair beside him, his tone carrying a hint of a scold. “What you need is to walk this off, not drink more. Let’s go outside.”

Valery snorted and nearly laughed ... if he even remembered how to do that. “ _I’m_ too old?” he said, but he stood anyway, swaying slightly, the result of his attempt to numb his thoughts with vodka. His mind was still alert; his motor skills, not so much.

“Maybe not too old, but already too drunk,” Boris said, steadying him. “Either way, you need a walk. Come with another old man, one who knows when someone has had his fill.” Boris recognized the reason behind Valery’s drinking; he saw the fractures inside the mind of someone starting to slip. This had happened before and it was Boris who had held him closely during those moments. By now, he knew all of Valery’s tells.

“Of course, of course. A walk. Yes, you are right, Scherbina.” Valery snuffed the last of his cigarette out in the ashtray and quickly lit another, the trail of smoke around him never having a chance to dissipate. Taking a stroll at night was better than the day, but also more advantageous in general. Outside was not bugged. The eyes could follow, but the ears never moved close enough to hear precisely what was said.

Side by side, Boris and Valery walked, their fingers touching lightly. The calloused skin of a career party man who’d done many things with his hands to get ahead in life, against the smooth skin of an academic who’d never had to use his hands much at all. It was his mind everyone wanted. A mind that was lapsing into despair at the moment.

He and Boris were two contradictions that somehow against all odds seemed to work.

“Are you alright, Valera?” Able to speak freely, Boris’s voice betrayed his usual no-nonsense gruffness. The change was only slight, but enough for Valery to sense his worry.

“I am as well as to be expected.” He sighed and took a drag of his cigarette. “My mind has just been working on uh, trying to come to terms with all the lies, the death, and uh … this.” He gestured at nothing in particular. Off to the side, just beyond the building they were near, he caught the eye of a woman. A KGB agent. Valery looked around and saw two more. On instinct, he edged away from the man who was only sent to manage him and nothing more. And especially not what he'd become to him in private. Removing his glasses, he wiped them with his sleeve if only to give his agitated hands something to do.

Boris grunted like he understood. He was a man of few words, who somehow managed to get across to Valery that he cared for him in the least obvious of ways. At first, it hadn’t been easy to detect these cryptic signs, but if you spent enough time with someone, the reality of who they were eventually came into focus. Boris may have been able to read him like a book, but months together made it possible for Valery to solve Boris Scherbina like a scientific equation.

“This isn’t anything you haven’t heard me say before, Boris. It is who I am sometimes.”

“And someday you should tell me more than just the few words you always say when I ask you that question.”

Valery shook his head. He was going to need a lot more vodka if they were going to discuss all the mayhem brewing inside his mind. “I much prefer your company to spilling what’s inside here.” He tapped his forehead. “Usually, these strolls do the trick. Just you by my side. That’s all I need.”

He grunted again and after a time, they were back in the hotel, entering Valery’s room. No longer able to speak as their true selves, they sat down next to each other in chairs looking out into the night. Boris held his hand while Valery went through the rest of his pack, lighting each one with the matches he’d taken from the bar. And it was during this comfortable silence between them that Valery dared to dream once more that he was a guest staying at this hotel. Only this time, he was with someone he loved while on holiday. Soon his anxiety and depression began shifting into something resembling happiness that while not sustainable, was enough to pull him from the bottomless pit he'd been circling.

His mind finally at ease, Valery drifted off, only to wake hours later in bed with the sun shining behind the curtains. Naturally, Boris was gone, but on his nightstand, was a brand new pack of cigarettes and a glass of water. Outside it was one of those awful sunny days he detested, and yet, even with a massive hangover pressing tightly against his skull, for once, Valery didn’t loathe the sun.

And for this, he could thank Boris.


	2. Boris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but I decided I wanted to attempt Boris's POV. So guess what, now this has 2 chapters. Enjoy!

It happened somewhere between, “We’ll be dead in five years,” and “I’m not good at this, Boris. The lying.”

Boris had been lying his whole life. He was well versed in saying what needed to be said in order to get the job done, but truth be told, the majority of the lying had been to himself. On a daily basis. And yet, there was something in that death sentence- five years, _only_ five years- that triggered a chain reaction inside his heart. After a few weeks, he was able to see his inevitable demise as an opening. He would be dead soon, why worry anymore? Why lie? Once Chernobyl was contained and he’d done his part, Boris would be free to be himself for the short duration of his declining health.

But it was the anxiety in Valery’s voice about lying that had brought about another revelation. His plan to no longer lie to himself was shoved to the forefront earlier than intended. This academic. This worry filled annoyance who didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut was ... growing on him. Maybe if Boris hadn’t been so good at believing his own lies, he would’ve seen it sooner. The truth was so obvious in hindsight, but not until that moment where he told Valery not to lie to the miners, did he know that he could no longer lie to himself either. _I have feelings for another man_ he thought, the sincerity in that statement sounding less shameful in his head than he feared it would.

He didn’t say anything to Valery. Boris continued to work alongside him. Days slipped past, weeks, and then a month. An entire month where he no longer lied to himself but was unable to be truthful with the one it would matter to most. Not until Valery exhibited odd new anxiety symptoms did Boris even hint at what was stirring just below the surface.

He’d seen him in a panic before, usually when something wasn’t being done with enough urgency for his liking. The chemist would chain-smoke with jittery hands while talking in a stream of seemingly never-ending words Boris didn’t always understand. But this was a different embodiment of worry. Valery was in his hotel room, sitting on the side of the bed, his face in the palm of one hand, while the other held a cigarette that was nearly reduced to its filter. Boris had come in there ready to reprimand him for being tardy but paused at the open door for a moment as he took in the sorry state of his partner.

“Legasov, are you well?” he asked.

Valery briefly looked up and then returned to palming his face. “No, I am not well,” was all he replied and it was the finality of his _no_ , that worried Boris.

Was their five year diagnosis too generous? Was Valery soon destined to become like those first responders who had died horrific deaths? According to Khomyuk, it wasn’t anything you would wish upon your worst enemy. “Do you need me to fetch the doctor?” Boris asked, keeping his voice even. Not that Valery would take the man seriously. He’d already expressed his opinion of him as a farce after he’d deemed it safe to stay in Pripyat. “Legasov, do you need a doctor?” Boris tried again and when his question went unanswered for a second time, emotion got the better of him. “Valery, if you don’t respond I will lift you out of this room myself so help me!” he threatened with just enough force to get his attention.

Valery lifted his head with a jerk. “No, I don’t need a doctor, Shcherbina.”

“Then what is the problem? I come in here because you’re late, only to find you unresponsive.” Boris wanted to add- _a less understanding man would’ve kicked you out of bed already_ but he kept that to himself.

Valery retrieved his glasses from the nightstand and lit another cigarette. He was wearing the clothes he slept in, his hair a disheveled mess. If Boris had to guess based on appearances, he'd say this was a man experiencing the aftermath of a night spent drinking, but he also understood Valery was a complicated puzzle and recognized this was different.

“When I woke up this morning,” Valery finally began after taking a moment to find his bearings, “I felt the weight of everything on my shoulders. I-it was too much a-and then when I saw the sun shining outside, I felt it was like a beacon telling me my life is not mine. I have no freedom and neither do the people here. Death has us all in its grasp.”

“The sun?” Boris repeated in disbelief. “The sun told you your life is not yours?”

“I know it sounds strange, but that is the only way I can explain it. And after that, I had no desire to do anything. I can’t do anything.” He breathed in through his nose and exhaled noisily. “You need to find someone else to do this. I’m deteriorating mentally, Boris, not just physically.”

Boris closed his eyes, a memory from his childhood playing inside his mind- bullies taunting him for being too friendly with another boy. He’d met their ridicule with his fists, bloody noses for them both. But their job had been done; shame infiltrated his heart. He may have fought back, but in the end, those bullies won. Now he was attempting to fight back a second time. To show his affection for another man without self-hatred ripping a hole in his chest. Eyes open once more, Boris went over and sat down next to Valery. “No other man could do what you’ve done, Valera. Other men may have the knowledge you do, but they lack the passion. Who else could talk back to someone who’d threatened to throw them out of a helicopter? We need that reckless abandon to do what’s right here in Pripyat.” He paused to swallow the lump growing in his throat at the prospect of finally speaking his truth. “ _I_ need you, Valera. I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

Valery took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a cloud that permeated the air around them. “What you call reckless abandon is really only anxiety. Sometimes it forces me to act, and other times it paralyzes me. The most mundane circumstances can trigger it.”

“Like the sun?” Boris asked.

“Like the sun,” Valery sighed, shaking his head, a lock of ginger hair falling down and brushing his forehead. “What a mess I am,” he lamented.

“And that is why you have me around. To pull you through these episodes. So, we can get the job done. Together.”

“You do not want that responsibly, Boris. Trust me.” Valery let out a groan that sounded so miserable, Boris felt inclined to take one of his hands in his. A harmless gesture under normal circumstances, but for him, it was so much more than that.

“No, _you_ trust _me_. I do not want anything more.” It was all he could say inside a room with tiny devices spread around to capture any insubordination.

Valery’s eyes grew, an understanding lighting inside them. “Well, I appreciate your willingness to work through this with me,” he replied, a corner of his mouth quirking upward.

“Good! And now that you are well again, you will need to get dressed and report downstairs,” Boris ordered, but neither of them moved. A moment was happening, so small it would take another month before either would act upon it- a soft kiss to help Valery through one of his dissents into crippling anxiety.

But for now, holding hands was enough.

And it was somewhere between Valery’s, “Well, I appreciate your willingness,” and his small smile of acknowledgment that Boris knew he had fallen in love.


End file.
